Guilty as Cinnamon Read Online Free PDF Page A

Chicks—Kristen and Laurel—had kid-related conflicts, so we’d canceled this week. I clipped on Arf’s leash, tugged the collar of my pink-and-gray jacket up around my neck to ward off the early evening mist, and grabbed my tote and market bag, carrot tops poking out.
    â€œRed or white, boy?” I asked my dog on the way to the wine shop in Post Alley. He did not reply. Silent is not my usual type, but it made a nice change.
    Vinny Delgado—no clue whether his mother gave him the first name or he picked it up on the job—pointed to the treat jar and, at my nod, tossed a liver chew. Arf plucked it out of the air.
    Oh, to be so easily satisfied.
    â€œWild world out there, from the looks of your cute mug,” he said as I debated light reds. The old bromide “white with fish, red with red meat” doesn’t take salmon into account. Plus I drink what I like.
    â€œShort version, I’m hiring again.” I chose a Côte de Brouilly Beaujolais and handed over a twenty. A blend rather than a varietal, the classic Beaujolais is full-bodied, tannic, and fruity. According to Vinny, it had recovered nicely from the popularity-driven quality crash a few years ago. “I fired Lynette.”
    â€œExcellent choice. The wine, I mean. But also canning thatwanna-be actress.” He gave me back more bills than he should have. “Employee discount.”
    â€œYou don’t have any employees, Vinny.”
    â€œThank God for small favors. Believe me, I know what I’m missing.”
    Have I mentioned I adore working in the Market?
    And I equally adore living downtown. All the comforts of home and no lawn to mow. Of course, my four-legged roommate enjoys a bit of green grass now and again, so we swung by Victor Steinbrueck Park on the north end of the Market before heading home to my warehouse loft.
    With my neighbors’ help, I’d revamped what they charmingly call my “outdoor space” so there’s enough room for a round black bistro table and two slim metal chairs in a vivid willow green. And a propane grill, three varieties of tomatoes, and potted herbs. My neighbors say skip the small pots in a small space—go big to make it feel bigger.
    And by golly, it works. I raised my glass toward their silent veranda. They were celebrating their anniversary with a three-week trip to Paris. “Lucky dogs,” I said out loud. Arf thumped his tail, as if in agreement.
    I reached down and scratched his chin, behind the scraggly beard. He let out a soft, contented sigh.
    After the day we’d had, we were lucky dogs indeed.

Three

    Pluviophile: (n) a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days
    â€”Urban Dictionary
    â€œI can work an extra day,” Kristen said at our Wednesday morning staff meeting. More breathing room in the nook without Lynette. “Until school’s out.”
    â€œNo summer classes for me this year,” Reed said. “Pile on the hours.”
    â€œThanks. That’s a big help. But we need another full-timer. Eyes and ears open.”
    Sandra’s right palm sported one small Band-Aid. “A teeny, tiny blister,” she said. “Worth the price to have this place back to ourselves.”
    All heads nodded. Lynette’s departure had been eagerly awaited.
    It amazes me how much good employees will endure without a peep, to avoid creating more trouble. Sometimes, you’ve almost got to be a master of divination to understand what they’re thinking.
    Zak scraped a bit of sugar off the butcher-block tabletop with his thumbnail. He and Tory had deliberately kept theirromance from me, to prove that it wouldn’t interfere with their jobs. It had, but in a good way. She’d left to pursue her art, and I was genuinely happy for them both.
    Other employees let it all hang out, setting the place on fire with their hot words. Thank goodness Lynette had lashed out at me, not